Tainted Love
by TheBlackBane
Summary: The Alliance Commander, Javain, a Mandalorian, is leading the Alliance after Valkorion's passing. But something keeps bothering him constantly. The man named Arcann. He wasn't sure on what he felt for the former emperor and enemy-turned-ally, but he didn't want to know. He was avoiding him, and it became obvious. Male x Male Romance. Arcann x OC. ( Feel free to use your own OC )


Chapter One

 _''Destiny is a lie.''_

-Arcann

It hadn't been long, a few months, atleast, since the Eternal Alliance became victorious on Zakuul. The former Sith Emperor, Valkorion, had finally been destroyed, completely, and it brought relief to everyone's mind, especially towards the Commander of said Alliance. He was the one that had to endure the perpetual torment on a daily basis as the emperor spat his acid words to him; tried to lure him to the dark and shape him into what he wanted him to be: some kind of pawn. But it never worked, infact, all his attempts were completely in vain and that never sat well with the Sith. It made him all the more insolent towards the mercenary, and through that, tried to elicit the darker thoughts of the man, all in hope he'd turn on his allies, or let Valkorion consume him completely. But now, his reign was over.

It was calm again in Odessen, for once. After the battle, and the damage Vaylin had caused, they had eventually made the repairs, but some could still see the cracked walls and artillery, not to mention the losses of the people that fought with them against the Empress' forces. But with war comes sacrifice: everyone in the Alliance knew what they signed up for. Both Republic and Imperial, even as the few Mandalorians and mercenaries that found their way to the base in hope to aid - and that they did. The commander was rather pleased that some of his brothers and sisters had joined him in the battle, along with another one that had helped him for years now: Torian Cadera. He was a fierce one in battle, and he would never submit to mocking imprisonment. Unfortunately, the battle also had taken the life of the Twi'lek, Vette. Many still mourned, and that was natural, everyone took their time to recover.

Being a Mandalorian was important to the Commander: he had been one as long as he could remember: it was more meaningful than being a bounty hunter without morals or goals. He finally felt the embrace of purpose when they accepted him, and now, leading so many people that trust him and come to him when times are dire: he could never let them down. All in all, he had his responsibility, and he also had his concerns when he had to make choices that would affect the lives of thousands. It weighed heavy on his mind sometimes, more than Valkorion's words did at times - but even with his voice gone, the hunter often imagined he heard the whispers of the man in his head again: figments of his imagination prying back at his brains. He had to separate reality from fiction, and that was no easy task. It was another sleepless night he spent in his quarters at the base, consumed by thoughts of the past events and the deaths that were taking its toll on him. It goes without saying that he was accustomed to death, more than some, but now the deaths were of people that had devoted to him, and counted on him, but despite that, he couldn't blame himself entirely.

He sighed in mild frustration as he pushed himself up from his bed and sat on the edge, running a hand through his jet black hair that became even more of a mess. He turned on few lights in his room as his bronze eyes scoured around, eying the ornaments on the walls, and the accommodations he had earned. One was a plaque of the Great Hunt, along with some Mandalorion ones, and a few regarding his service to the Imperials and so on: there were too many for his taste, but he loved drowning in achievements. They made him feel good, powerful if anything, and he needed that constant reminder to reassure himself that he actually did all those feats. Even if he came across like an arrogant, selfish bastard at most times, his closest allies, such as Lana and Theron, had seen his softer side when it came to protecting his people, and he even threw himself on a suicide mission a couple of times to save them - luckily, that worked out. He shook his head as he thought about it, only to raise himself up and stretch himself some from the sedentary position he had been in. Sleeping wouldn't help right now, and staying in his quarters would drive him mad, no matter the things he could do there. He had no urge to work on datapads regarding Alliance missions - he'd let Theron do that. As he finally suited himself up in his gear again, he headed outside, out to the docking bay where his old ship was stationed.

The sky was dark, yet stars lit up, millions of them, and it made for a soothing scenery. He folded his arms briefly before leaning over, on the bannister to relieve himself from the weight of his heavy armor: it was a golden-yellow, reinforced and made from the best material he could wish for: _beskar._ It had missile launchers on his shoulderpad, and on his gauntlets. And that was just one thing he liked to brag about to some who'd envy him. It also had a stealth field generator and his armor was also resistant to blaster damage and lightsaber damage, which worked out mostly against force users in battle. Even the local wild life was silent, which caused him to think again. Could everyone sleep, except for him? He gripped the cold metal with his hands and eventually relaxed his digits again after his frustration ebbed away again. That was, untill he heard footsteps approach from behind him. It was getting closer, and closer, and he couldn't be more paranoid, even in his own base. His hands ached to get back on the triggers of his blasters, his heart squeezing together as the anticipation rose: his breathing ragged as his curiousity was sated by a deep voice.

'' _Commander. I did not think you would be awake this late. Might I ask why you are, if it is not a bother?''._ Blasted. It was _him._ He had to get out of this somehow, and he didn't want to argue or deal with this, not right now. He moved his gaze to the force-user, eying him sternly - or so he imagined, considering he was wearing his old-fashioned Mandalorian helmet. His hands slipped from the bannister and he turned frontal to the other, folding his arms again, as per usual, and assumed his usual indolent stance. What could he say? That he couldn't sleep because of everything that had happened, or that he was outside, in the middle of the night, to see his ship again? He wouldn't fall for that. Arcann was too shrewd for that. _Shit._


End file.
